


Touch

by MiladyPheonix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Apologies, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyPheonix/pseuds/MiladyPheonix
Summary: After the morgue, after John moves back in, it happens. Sherlock flinches, John apologises, and a customary dose of fluff!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> A commission from a Tumblr Dear one. A fic of flinching Sherlock, apologising John, and fluff was requested. 
> 
> I take writing commissions through PayPal.

John trudged up Baker street, it had been a tiring shift and he just wanted to be home. Things were settling down after the chaos of Eurus and his moving back in. Sherlock was recovering well and most mornings was deep in thought when John left for work. The black door gave way to a foul stench and panic melded to anger as he raced up the stairs and through the door, yanking windows open so quickly the wooden frames creaked in his hands. 

He strode into the kitchen yelling “Sherlock! What are you doing?!” which was when it happened.

Sherlock Flinched!

John was an idiot, that’s what he had been missing. Sherlock sat very still, eyes closed, in his chair each morning so that he wouldn’t have to watch John rush about. A fast moving object could be a trigger if someone is skittish, he knew this, he had spent ages wishing London would slow down for his war frazzled nerves but now he had to wonder; did life ever slow down for Sherlock Holmes. 

The most poignantly obvious fact hit him next and he nearly fled the house, Sherlock was scared him. Not consciously aware of this obviously but his mind still categorized John as a threat. “You’re afraid of me.” He didn’t bother making it a question and Sherlock for once didn’t bother arguing. “It would seem I’m still a bit skittish around you John. I apologize, I’m sure it won’t last much longer. What I’m doing is testing more ash samples, I want to get an even 300 on the site before I consider the article closed. Foolish of me to not ensure proper ventilation, sorry, won’t happen again.” John stared, Sherlock had apologized but had still not moved from the chair he was frozen in. Pacing slowly around table John carefully sat down opposite his best friend. 

“You never apologize, and you are never going to change. I’m fine with that Sherlock, but what is not fine, is what I did.” “You yell at me constantly John.” “You know what I mean.” “Yes I do. I don’t want to address it.” “But clearly we need to.” He gestured carefully across the table inviting Sherlock to speak.

“Did you ever find out that you cracked two of my ribs John? Only micro fractures so I requested they be left out of the reports at my bedside. The proper file was with Nurse Cornish.” A moment passed before sea glass met stormy oceans again. “You beat me down John but what broke me, was that you agreed that I had killed her.” 

John swallowed a sob as Sherlock spoke because this wasn’t about him, this was about Sherlock. Everything would be about Sherlock for the rest of his life if there was any way to fix things between them. “I don’t blame you John.” Oh god, the tears started falling down John’s incredulous face. “I do. I blame myself for all of it. For marrying an assassin and hitting you. Oh god Sherlock, I blame myself for your being in that hospital bed because I put you there.” Pale lips parted in protest. “No Sherlock, I put you there and that will never be okay. So I need to ask your help again.” 

Sherlock stared shocked at John unsure how or if he could ever help again. “It’s just the transport John, an automatic physical reflex. I’m waiting for it to stop but I can do some research into stopping it faster.” John hid his eyes in his hands, still weeping quietly. “It’s not about the flinching Sherlock.” He wanted John’s eyes back, to see his face so that he could read something of what was going on in his mind.

“I need a new therapist, someone to talk to, we can’t go on like this.” Oh, and he didn’t trust himself to find a good one, who wasn’t psychopath, so he wants Sherlock’s help to find one. “Mycroft gave me a list not too long ago. They are all vetted and very good. I’ll remove my own psychiatrist as an option that way we can avoid seeing the same person.” “Good idea or they might just have me locked up.” Sherlock felt himself freeze again as John rose carefully. He worked to slow his breathing and unlock his muscles as John approached. This was John, his John, his doctor, his flat mate, his best friend. John would never hurt him again. A cold hand settled on his once struck cheek. 

“You’re in therapy.” “I go while you’re at work, I knew you’d blame yourself so I kept it from you. Things are settling down at last I didn’t want to rock the boat.” “Things are settling but not the way they should. You shouldn’t be living on egg shells Sherlock so I’m also going back to therapy, preferably without a crazy person as my shrink.” A gentle pressure showed Sherlock leaning into his touch and it made John realise how little they had touched since he came back. Sherlock used to be practically in his pockets, well more like literally in his pockets when they lived together but now they hadn’t touched in weeks. Following some unknown instinct John bent and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s.

John was touching him. He hadn’t touched John for weeks, it just hadn’t felt like it was okay but now John was touching him and it was okay, it was very okay. And they kissed. He had raised his jaw from where it was cradled in John’s delicate hold and neither would ever be sure who moved first. But they kissed. John’s other hand slid up his neck and Sherlock shivered. “Icy hands, requirement, Doctor.” John apologised in a murmur.

“No, not cold. Ticklish.” The truth was a dangerous thing. Two fingertips travelled under his ear and along the back of his neck. He shivered again and smiled helplessly against the answering grin on John’s lips. “Ticklish, really?” “No.” The breathless protest gave way to a quiet chuckle and a moan as a doctor’s clever clever fingers circled to the perpetual tension at the base of his skull and the thumb stroked firmly down his neck. Another Kiss swallowed the noise and another chuckle escaped into the space between them, from John’s throat this time. “We’re going to have to look into this ticklish business later but I’m not done kissing you yet.” 

Sherlock knew he could kiss John now and that was all he needed in that moment. Just to kiss him and feel John’s hands roam over his shirt. There was a jolt of cold as things were untucked but the satisfaction of hurling a boring woollen jumper as far as possible made up for it. “You really hate that one don’t you? You’re not allowed to destroy my wardrobe just so you can dress me. I know you’ve been thinking of doing that.” “Cardigans John! I’d be a terrible boyfriend if I let you keep running around in cardigans and jumpers like an old man.” 

They had come up for air and John towed Sherlock to the sofa and away from the chair that was groaning under their combined weight. “We’ll have a mission explaining a broken chair to Mrs Hudson.” “She'd bake us a cake John.” Sherlock retorted and John had to concede that as usual his genius was right. 


End file.
